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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848222">I'm Game to Play Along</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevewren/pseuds/maevewren'>maevewren</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Alternative Universe - FBI, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Undercover as a Couple</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:40:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848222</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevewren/pseuds/maevewren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek are FBI agents who hate each other's guts, and now they have to go undercover as a married couple. What could possibly go hot and sexy??</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>245</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Basically this is going to be me indulging in all of my favorite tropes and making myself laugh with stupid jokes. Rating will be earned in later chapters cuz this burn is gonna be slooooow.</p><p>Title is from Jimmy Eat World's song "Work."</p><p>A big shout-out to my wonderful beta LarryOn, without whom none of my fics would even exist.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I think this is a bad idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris Argent heaved a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight while he centered himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hale,” Chris said, opening his eyes and leaning back in his desk chair. “I don’t really care what you think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek Hale huffed, a little childishly Chris thought, and crossed his arms. Chris braced himself for the inevitable grown-man tantrum he’d seen Derek throw at least three times in their years at the FBI together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chris,” Derek said. Pleaded, really. He fixed his gaze on his supervisor. “I’m an FBI agent. I am not a babysitter. I am not a nanny. I don’t want to be somebody’s mentor, and I’m definitely not a drag queen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris sipped his coffee and waved his left hand in the air, like he was physically brushing aside Derek’s concerns. “Don’t be ridiculous. Stilinski has as much experience being an agent as you do, you won’t be anyone’s nanny. And he’s only gone undercover as a drag queen one time, though you do bring it up a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s cheeks reddened slightly and he crossed his arms even tighter, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I expect more than this from you, Agent. What is this beef you’ve got with Stilinski?” Chris didn’t actually care; mentally he was already preparing for his next meeting, but he’d been working with Derek long enough to know how much the man valued being heard. He’d gotten really good at pretending to be attentive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek exhaled loudly and rubbed his forehead like his head hurt. “I don’t have a problem with him, I just don’t think he’s capable of keeping himself, or a partner, safe during a dangerous operation. And you know this will be extremely dangerous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris, who was still thinking about something else, nodded thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just seems like a liability I can’t afford after-” Derek stopped speaking abruptly and shifted in his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris didn’t need to be paying attention to know what topic Derek had strayed onto. He could read it in Derek’s body language.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” he said. “Hale. Do I need to send you back to the counselors downstairs? We’ve been over this and over this and I can only hear myself say the same thing so many times. Matt's death was unavoidable collateral damage on an otherwise very successful mission. It wasn’t your fault any more than it was mine for sending you two into that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek nodded, but he didn’t look up at his boss. He knew they would never agree on this point. As far as Derek was concerned, Matt Daehler would be alive today if Derek hadn’t let him down on the job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Chris said with finality. “That’s it for today. You and Stilinski need to be ready to be in the field next week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s shoulders slumped a little. He’d known it was a long shot when he went into Chris’s office, but he had really hoped against hope that he could get out of working with his least favorite colleague. No such luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Chris.” Derek made his way back to his workstation, cursing his rotten life the whole way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, Scott, hold on,” Stiles barked into the phone he held in his left hand while he attempted to fold laundry with the right. “Your baby is not dying, stop being ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Stiles,” his best friend wheezed into the phone, “she’s been asleep for way too long, like two hours too long, and I think something is wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles gave up trying to fold socks with one hand and slumped down on his couch next to the pile of whites. “If you really think something is wrong, why haven’t you called your mom? She’s actually a nurse. I don’t even have kids!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence from the other end gave Stiles a clue. “Ah,” he deduced. “You tried her but you couldn’t get ahold of her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Stiles. I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m going to tell Kira if she gets home and our daughter is...oh God, I can’t do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles rolled his eyes and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. This was going to take a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scott, all I’ve heard from you in the two weeks since your daughter was born is how tired you are, and how desperately you want her to take a long nap or sleep through the night so you guys can get some rest. So why aren’t you rejoicing and sleeping right the hell now?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott whimpered, but no words came out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, buddy. Why don’t you go into her nursery, since you’re basing this all on the video monitor, and take a look at her? I’m 100% sure she’s fine, so go see for yourself. Watch her breathing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stiles.” Scott sounded aghast. “I can’t risk waking her up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” Stiles moaned. “I can’t believe this is actually even more annoying than the shit I had to deal with at work today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!” Scott cried. “She just moved! She moved a little bit, Stiles! She’s alive!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles banged his head a little against the wall behind him. “That’s great, buddy. I’m very relieved for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few deep breaths, Scott spoke up again. “What happened at work, man?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Stiles began. “You know how I work with that one really terrible guy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beautiful Dickhead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the one. Well, he and I have been assigned to do a project together.” Stiles always had to be really vague about his cases with anyone outside of the Bureau, at least until they’d been adjudicated, which often took years. Sometimes it really sucked not being able to tell Scott or his dad everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit,” Scott said, real sympathy in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re worried you’re not gonna be able to keep your hands off of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Stiles shrieked. “Jesus, no Scott! You know that I fucking hate that guy, he’s a complete and utter jackass, so pompous. It’s like there’s rebar jammed right up his ass. And through his chest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott sounded confused. “But you never mention him without also mentioning that he’s the hottest guy you’ve ever seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Scott,” Stiles corrected him. “He’s the hottest guy who has ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>lived</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so confused.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, buddy, it’s okay. The point is, whatever his level of attractiveness is, and holy god is it a lot-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See this is what I’m talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one could be hot enough to overcome a personality like his. And, also, he hates me, possibly even more than I hate him.” Stiles sighed and gazed up at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you two worked together, anyway? Isn’t it a couple years by now? I feel like you guys should have moved past this already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,</span>
  <em>
    <span> I </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> should know that the word “diction” has nothing to do with penises, but I’m not constantly harping on you for that,” Stiles sniped back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, you brought it up again like two days ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.” Stiles tugged at his hair, frustrated. “It’s just a shitty situation. I’m going undercover with this guy and it’s just really going to suck. He makes me feel so...small. Now he’ll be the person I see and talk to most often? Ugh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, man.” Scott sounded genuinely bummed for his best friend. “Listen, I’m going to try and jump in the shower before Keiko wakes-” A baby’s wail, tinny through a monitor, interrupted Scott and Stiles held the phone a few inches away from his ear. Sometimes, he reminded himself, being single had its perks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang in there, buddy,” Stiles said before hanging up. At least an undercover mission with Derek Hale would be easier than having a newborn baby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Argent finished giving Derek and Stiles the details of their mission, Stiles was ready to adopt five newborn babies, happily, rather than go through with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, we are going to pose as what? I don’t think I heard you correctly.” There was a waver to Derek’s usually monotone voice, but he was too stunned to conceal it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris raised one eyebrow at Derek, unimpressed. “You heard me, Agent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles started giggling, he couldn’t help it, which provoked piercing death glares from the two other men. That made him laugh harder and he had to cover his face in his hands to calm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek decided he hated him a little more than he already did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something funny, Agent?” Chris’s voice could cut glass on a good day, but right now it was even more dangerously sharp. He was not in the mood for this shit; never was, to be honest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sir,” Stiles said, sobering quickly. “It’s just...quite an unusual operation. I don’t think I’ve heard of two agents posing as a gay married couple before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek growled very softly at the phrase “gay married couple,” shifting in his chair like a petulant schoolchild. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to shatter your heteronormative expectations, Agents,” Chris said coldly to both men, “but we don’t currently have a female agent available, and it is the year 2020.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles sputtered, “I am not being homophobic, I’m not even heterosexual myself!” He realized how unprofessional his response had been the moment it left his lips, and based upon the wide eyes Derek was suddenly sporting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean I’m bi,” Stiles added nervously, “not that you care or needed to know about my sexuality, so I’m going to shut up now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For his part, Derek felt a little envious of Stiles’ outing himself; he was also bi, and hated that everyone assumed he was super straight, but he certainly couldn’t blurt it out now. Damn Stilinski.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t care,” Chris responded to Stiles, as expected. “Nor is it particularly relevant, since I’m not expecting you two to come back from this engaged for real, given your general dynamic with one another, or should I start preparing the celebratory banners now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir,” Derek said. “Is there anything else we need to know? When do we start?” He couldn’t even handle a joke about him and Stiles being a couple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything you need is at your stations: keys to the vehicles you’ll be using, full dossier on your identities, all the necessary documents, house keys, and wedding rings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles choked on the water he’d just sipped at that last part. Derek shot him a nasty glare and Chris just sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let me down, boys,” Chris said to the two 30-something men. “There’s a lot riding on this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles choked again, and Derek silently prayed for strength.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here we go, folks. Alllllll the tropes are gonna come out to play, because I love them.</p>
<p>Excuse me now and forevermore for my shaky grasp of how the FBI functions. Feel free to correct me, or just suspend your disbelief and have some fun!</p>
<p>TW for mentions of sport-hunting of protected animals, but trust I will NEVER include details or actually describe such activities.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Before they could head to their new home, Derek and Stiles needed to meet up with the task force that had been assembled from the police department in their new town. Beacon Hills was a few hours from their real home base in San Francisco, so they made it there by early afternoon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles chatted nervously the entire way; Derek kept his eyes fixed out the window and occasionally grunted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Our marriage is off to a great start</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stiles thought, making himself snort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Derek hissed, finally looking in Stiles’ direction. “Why are you laughing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles cleared his throat and made an effort to look more serious. “Nothing, seriously. Just, you know. This whole thing is pretty hilarious, if you think about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d rather not.” Derek went back to looking out the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but we’re going to have to face it eventually. We can’t do our jobs if we act like we hate each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But we do hate each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Ouch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I wrong?” But Derek looked like he felt slightly bad for the dig.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Stiles said breezily, putting the angry furrow right back into Derek’s thick brows. “But we just have to suck it up. We’re professionals. I know I’ve pretended to do crazier things. I had to pretend to be in a motorcycle gang, for crying out loud.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Derek looked incredulous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Stiles cleared his throat. “Not exactly. The mission got canceled right before it was about to start. But still! I did receive that assignment!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek scowled and shook his head. “Is anything that comes out of your mouth not complete and utter bullshit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does anything come out of your mouth at all, with the exception of insults for me? This is the most I’ve heard you speak in the years we’ve worked in the same department.” Stiles was careful not to say “worked together,” because they very deliberately never had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A thoughtful look on his face, Derek said, “I wonder why Chris chose us for this assignment. It’s not exactly a secret that we...are not friends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“First and foremost, I don’t think Chris gives a shit how we feel about each other. Secondly, I think everyone else was busy. So here we are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek grunted. They rode the rest of the way to the Beacon County Sheriff’s office in silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sheriff Jordan Parrish was surprisingly young, and surprisingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stiles thought, taking in his boyish smile and how nicely he filled out his uniform. If he lingered a little long on the handshake, who could blame him? (Probably Derek, who hadn’t stopped glaring since Parrish introduced himself.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Parrish led them into a private room where four deputies were waiting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Agents,” he said, “allow me to introduce Vernon Boyd, Theo Raeken, Erica Reyes, and Adrian Harris.” He gestured to a tall, built black man, a skinny white guy with a pretty face and sour expression, a busty blonde who looked them up and down hungrily, and an older guy whose face was practically shriveled with disdain, respectively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Derek said with a nod to the sheriff. “And thank you, all of you, for joining us and being a part of this task force. We appreciate you taking the time from your local duties and I hope this will be a rewarding experience for all of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles rolled his eyes. “What my partner means, if you don’t speak stick-in-the-ass, is that you guys rock and we’re gonna have some fun and catch some bad guys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek turned on Stiles with fire in his eyes. “We are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> partners,” he hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no, sweetcheeks,” Stiles batted his lashes, “we are so much more - we are husband and husband!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell is going on here?” Erica demanded, looking amused and delighted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, of course,” Stiles said, a bit more seriously. “Let’s talk about the mission. Agent Hale and I are attempting to infiltrate and gain intelligence on a criminal enterprise that has recently moved its home base here to Beacon Hills.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drugs? Guns?” Theo asked in a bored voice before blatantly checking Derek out. Stiles felt irrationally irritated by this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not quite,” Derek responded. “This group calls themselves the Alpha Pack, and for at least the last five years they’ve been engaging in the illegal trafficking of endangered canid species, primarily the red wolf. We believe the animals are often purchased in order to be used for canned hunts. The species has come very close to extinction and what the Alpha Pack is doing is in violation of the federal Endangered Species Act.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inspecting her nails, Erica asked, “What’s a canned hunt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Basically it’s where animals are trapped in a specific area so that some dickless fucks can pretend to hunt them, when they’re really just murdering them in an unfair fight so they can mount trophies on their walls,” Stiles said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that sucks,” she said after a moment. “Let’s nail these fuckers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the idea,” Parrish broke in. “Agents Stilinski and Hale have come to Beacon Hills to pose as a married couple moving into a house next to the ringleader of the Alpha Pack, a man who goes by the name of Deucalion. He’s known to be a very social man who likes to host big gatherings where we suspect a lot of information about their criminal operation is shared. Hopefully Stilinski and Hale can ingratiate themselves with Deucalion and get the information needed to put him and his associates away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where exactly do we come in?” Harris asked. He looked utterly displeased to be a part of this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to assist us with intel, backup, and anything else we might need extra hands for. This is a classified operation and you will be the only individuals outside of the FBI who know this is happening,” Derek said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I shouldn’t need to tell you,” Parrish warned, “that you are not to discuss anything pertaining to this mission outside of this group or in any place where you could be overheard. The Alpha Pack is dangerous, and if they find out about this sting, all of our lives could be in danger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Especially ours,” Stiles agreed. “Although I guess I could finally get rid of this guy,” he joked, pointing at a scowling Derek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You guys are gonna convince people that you’re married?” Boyd asked skeptically, taking in the look of pure disgust on Derek’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fortunately we’re very good at our jobs,” Derek said in a monotone. “Do any of you have any questions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you guys going to share a bed?” Erica asked eagerly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Stiles said, at the exact moment Derek said, “Definitely not.” They turned and glared at each other as Erica cackled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s leave it to the agents to figure out the details,” Parrish said smoothly, ushering the two men out the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is she always like that?” Derek asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Parrish just sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles whirled around on Derek as soon as they’d gotten into their government-issued Jeep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you mean, we ‘definitely’ won’t be sharing a bed? Do you even know how to go undercover? We have to sell this shit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek felt genuinely surprised that Stiles even cared. “We’ve established that we don’t like each other. Why in the world would we share a bed? It’s not like Deucalion is going to come over and somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>smell</span>
  </em>
  <span> where we’ve been sleeping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles shook his head in frustration. “That’s not the point. We have to fully play the part, get deep into this thing, if we’re going to sell it. And what if somebody did poke around the house and noticed that two rooms were being used, with our stuff separate? It’s not worth the risk. Am I really so abhorrent that you’re willing to risk the entire operation to avoid sleeping two feet apart?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek thought about telling him that he was a cuddly sleeper, that no matter who was in the bed with him, they’d wake up with him on top of them, but decided against it. Maybe his dislike of Stiles would override his innate need to spoon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Calm down, Stilinski. And don’t flatter yourself. I’m just used to having my own space and I don’t relish the idea of giving it up. I haven’t had to share a bed in years.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles wrinkled his nose. “Did you really just admit that, dude? I wouldn’t brag about it if I were you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek fixed him with a hard look. “I never said I was celibate, Stiles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, but then just sighed and leaned back. “Drive me, chauffeur,” he said wearily. “Time to get this party started.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily for them, Deucalion was the kind of guy who liked the finer things, so he’d taken up residence in the nicer part of town, where the houses were old and charming and surrounded by towering mature trees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is much nicer than where I usually live,” he observed as they pulled into the driveway of the Tudor-style house the FBI had rented.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shocking,” Derek said drily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry,” Stiles sneered. “I forgot I was in the company of Richie Rich.” (It was well known in the office that Derek came from a very, very wealthy family, although he tried to conceal it. Once he accidentally wore a Rolex to work and they ragged on him for it for at least a year. Stiles may have led the charge on that one.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek said nothing. They parked on the driveway, not using the garage so that Deucalion would be sure to see he had new neighbors. Their house was two doors down from his and had been vacant for a while, so he was likely to take notice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Movers would be arriving later with furniture and enough boxes to make the move look legit, even though all of Derek and Stiles’ belongings were in the two suitcases they had brought with them in the Jeep. Derek hauled both of the bags from the back of the vehicle, intending to carry them himself, but Stiles made an irritated sound and knocked his bag out of Derek’s hand. “I can carry it myself,” he snapped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek lifted one eyebrow. “What happened to ‘fully playing the part?’” he asked quietly, in case anyone could hear them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am,” Stiles said indignantly. “Why do you assume you would do the heavy-lifting in this relationship? Because of your big muscles?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, you’re a pig. I’m not surprised, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honey, is this our first fight?” Derek gave him what might, in some cultures, be considered a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You damn well know it isn’t, and it won’t be our last,” Stiles snapped, making a show of hefting his bag up to shoulder height like it weighed nothing at all. “Where’s the damn house key? And why did Chris give it to you, anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I really need to answer that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Stiles racked his brain for a saucy retort, Derek opened the heavy oak front door and gestured for Stiles to enter first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, love muffin,” Stiles muttered. “Now let’s go find our fucking bedroom because I need a nap.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, a million thank you's to my wonderful and lightening-fast beta LarryOn.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Once inside, Stiles realized the flaw in his napping plan: they had no furniture. He wasn’t sure if he was desperate enough to sleep on the hardwood floor. He stood in the foyer, cursing, as Derek sailed past and up the stairs to put their stuff down. When Stiles realized that he would probably choose their bedroom, he sprang up the stairs after Derek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare choose our room without me!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek sighed and dropped their bags in the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I fail to see how it could make any possible difference which room we choose. It’s not like one will have waterfalls and kittens and the other will be crawling with giant spiders.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that’s vivid. And strange. Waterfalls and kittens, huh? I guess I know what floats your boat now.” Stiles relished the aggravated look on Derek’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pick a room,” Derek gritted out as he headed down the stairs. “And put our bags in there. I’m going to check out the rest of the house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles gave a thumbs-up and a sneer to Derek’s disappearing back, then went into each of the bedrooms. The house was huge, and Stiles found five bedrooms, several with en-suite bathrooms. Ultimately he chose the room with the nicest view, of the preserve out back behind the house, and the most updated bathroom. Which meant it had gotten a makeover in approximately 1975, but at least it had a shower stall and not just a tub with a curtain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice view up here,” Stiles shouted in the general direction of the stairs, but got no response. He leaned against the window, gazing out across the long span of grass that faded into a thick evergreen treeline. He wondered how deep the woods went, and how good they would be for hiding when Derek was on his last nerve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles headed downstairs when he heard Derek talking into his phone, using his official “work” voice. It had to be Chris, checking in about their arrival and setup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Derek was saying, “it’s all in good shape and appears to be very secure.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles hopped off the bottom step and approached Derek, who was leaning against the entryway to a big room that led into the kitchen - dining room, maybe? Stiles had never lived anywhere with an official, separate dining room. It seemed so excessive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Derek said to the other person on the phone, “no sign of him or any of his crew. I was thinking it might draw him out when the movers arrive in a few hours.” Derek listened to whatever response he got, nonsensically nodding, then hung up and slipped the phone into  his back pocket. “Chris,” he said to Stiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Figured.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s hoping we’ll make some sort of contact today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again, figured.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek rolled his eyes. “Forgive me for forgetting about your intuitive brilliance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles shrugged. “Forgiven.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think you’re smart enough to get us to the nearest grocery store? We might as well get supplies while we’re waiting for the moving crew.” Without waiting for a response, Derek headed toward the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m smart enough to Yelp it, asshole. Are you not?” Stiles followed Derek outside and pulled the front door shut a tad aggressively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek hated grocery shopping with Stiles exactly as much as he had thought he would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First, Stiles had no real sense of what basics they needed to have on hand, or what meals they might want to prepare, but just sort of flitted around from display to display. He got distracted for a good five minutes checking out the display case of birthday cakes. After 20 minutes, he had put in the cart only: BBQ potato chips, a giant bag of Sour Patch Kids, cheap beer, mint chip ice cream, and a loaf of white bread, the kind that’s so soft you can mash an entire slice into a marble-sized ball with your fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unable to filter himself, Derek stopped the cart in the middle of the cereal aisle and physically removed a box of Fruity Pebbles from Stiles’ hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stiles,” he said slowly and patiently, “we are not on some college spring-break vacation. We could be living here for a while. We need to buy real food, the same kind we would buy at home. Surely you know this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles gave Derek a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” He picked the cereal back off the shelf and tossed it into the cart, then added a box of Golden Grahams. “These </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> my regular groceries.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ,” muttered Derek. “How old are you, again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“31,” Stiles said, not acknowledging the jab. “How old are you, Grandpa?” He directed a pointed glance at Derek’s groceries so far: steel-cut oats, apples, unsweetened peanut butter, plain yogurt, and some crackers made entirely of flaxseeds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m an ancient 35. Not sure you’ll live to see that age, given your diet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Stiles scoffed. “I always pass my physical with flying colors. Sure, I may not have </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> body--” Stiles stopped talking abruptly, seeming a little embarrassed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A little embarrassed himself, Derek resisted the bizarre impulse he felt to tell Stiles that there was nothing wrong with his body either. Stiles never, ever needed to know that Derek found the little jackass attractive. It was like admitting that Ted Bundy was kind of hot. Not okay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get some meat,” Derek said instead, and he covered Stiles’ mouth right before he could say something lewd. One day together and he could already anticipate the guy’s next move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How the hell was he going to survive </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> getting to know this person?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, the spectacle of the moving truck did nothing to lure out their new neighbor. As night fell and the sky grew dark, no lights came on in Deucalion’s house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He must have been out all day,” said Stiles, rifling through the kitchen boxes for a bottle opener.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek made an affirmative sound, then twisted the cap off Stiles’ beer with no effort. He handed the bottle to Stiles with a patronizing, “It’s a twist-off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Stiles said. “I know that, penis-face. It hurts my palm skin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Penis-face? Palm skin? Where did you even come from?” Derek opened a can of seltzer water for himself before he began putting away all the silverware. He sort of wanted to laugh, but felt it would be a concession of some kind, so he kept his face where Stiles couldn’t see it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s all part of my charm, big guy. So, pizza? I’ll find a place and order. And let me guess: you want anchovies and sadness on yours.” Stiles cackled at his own joke and sipped his beer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“<em>Mushrooms </em></span>
  <span>and sadness, please,” Derek said drily. “Better throw in some disgust and indignation and why-me-God while you’re at it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, so the Derek Hale special? No problem.” Stiles wandered out of the room to find his phone, humming a pop song that had been playing at the grocery store.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was going to take a lot of hard work and effort to never smile or laugh at Stiles’ humor, but Derek Hale was nothing if not a hard worker.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the long delay, lovelies! Let's blame it on pandemic-induced malaise. But I'll be back on track from here on out!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Morning brought out their mark, luckily. Stiles and Derek were busily insulting each other’s coffee-making skills (Stiles told Derek his pour-over was pretentious and Derek told Stiles his pre-ground grocery store coffee was a travesty) when the doorbell rang. They both stopped talking at once and stared at each other, trying to get back into the work mindset quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek collected himself first and strode briskly to the front door. He swiped one hand pointlessly over his already-perfect hair and fixed on a smile before pulling the door open to reveal a rather distinguished-looking man in his 50s. He looked exactly like the photos they’d reviewed in the case file.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Deucalion greeted Derek in his sonorous English accent. “It seems I was unavoidably detained when you arrived yesterday; I apologize for not welcoming you to the neighborhood sooner. Deucalion,” he added, thrusting out a hand for Derek to shake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, who’s at the door?” Stiles called from the kitchen before stepping out into the hallway, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something flashed quickly in Deucalion’s eyes, surprise maybe, before his expression smoothed out again. “Just your nosy neighbor coming to say hello,” he said with a warm smile, looking from Stiles to Derek and back again. Derek knew the gaze was more investigative than friendly, but he knew exactly how to pretend he didn’t notice a thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s great!” Stiles cried, hurrying forward and pulling Deucalion into a hug. He caught Derek’s eye over Deucalion’s shoulder and winked in response to Derek’s eye roll. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well,” Deucalion pulled back onto the front step, clearing his throat and adjusting his collar. He was ruffled, which Derek realized had been Stiles’ goal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is Derek,” Stiles forged on, seemingly unaware of their visitor’s discomfort. “My hubby,” he grinned, looking at Derek lovingly. Turning back to Deucalion he said, “And I’m Stiles. We just moved here from San Francisco to be closer to nature. It’s beautiful! We’re so thrilled.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deucalion regained his regal composure while Stiles was speaking. “As we are delighted to have you, I’m sure I can say on behalf of myself and the rest of our neighbors. Lovely people, as you’ll soon find.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles sighed. “We would love to meet everyone, but this one,” he tugged on Derek’s sleeve, “can be a little shy. I’ll never convince him to go out knocking on doors with me!” He gave Derek a little smile and leaned into his shoulder. Derek was very proud of himself for not shoving him back off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nonsense,” Deucalion said. “I will host a little get-together, you can meet everyone at once. They’re all very non-threatening, I assure you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek could practically sense that Stiles wanted to snort at that, and was suitably impressed when his fake husband just made a pleased sound and nestled further into Derek’s shoulder. “That is so kind of you, thank you so much!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wonderful. Let’s say tomorrow, 5pm? My house is two doors down, that way,” he pointed. “Have a lovely day, gentlemen.” Deucalion tipped his head, then turned swiftly to leave. Derek said goodbye and shut the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was almost as awkward as us sharing a bed last night,” Stiles observed a few moments later as he watched Deucalion walking back to his house through the wide windows of the front room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek felt his cheeks get hot; he had hoped Stiles wouldn’t notice how he’d held himself so far to his side of the bed that he’d been half off the mattress. He just couldn’t risk any accidental cuddling. He spent most of the night staring at the ceiling in something like terror, Stiles snoring obliviously beside him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was your brilliant idea,” Derek muttered, walking back to the kitchen for his third coffee of the morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a quiet, sulky breakfast in the dining room, surrounded by boxes that mostly contained only packing paper, Stiles attempted to channel his inner Scott and play nice with his nemesis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” he said, drawing his spoon through the pale blue milk at the bottom of his bowl, “what should we do today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek spooned more oatmeal into his mouth and shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Stiles said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice, “it is Saturday. And it’s not going to take all of today and tomorrow to prepare for Deucalion’s party. We should probably, like, go into town or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or something?” Derek asked coldly. He seemed even more annoyed by life than usual, which was a pretty impressive feat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, Derek,” Stiles snapped. “What the hell is your problem? I don’t want to be here any more than you do. You think this is my ideal Saturday?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry to be taking you from your, your, I don’t know, your gallivanting around Dolores Park with a bottle of wine in a thermos and a pack of floozies, or whatever you do for fun,” Derek sniped back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles stared incredulously for a long minute before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. He laughed until tears pooled in his long lashes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gallivanting? Floozies?” Stiles wheezed, wiping his eyes. “God, you paint a fascinating picture of my life. You have a very, very weird image of me in your head.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> image of you in my head, excuse me for not having a clue what you’re into.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See?” Stiles smacked the table for emphasis. “This is what I mean! We have to learn about each other or this mission is a failure! I’m sorry if it will be so horribly painful for you, but it’s part of our job. Do you get that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek crossed his arms tightly. “Fine. Let’s get to know each other.” His tone was murderous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles ignored it. “Fine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Derek asked, fiddling with his spoon. “What would you be doing if you were at home today?” He knew it sounded like the words were being dragged out of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Since you asked so nicely,” Stiles said cheerfully, “I’m happy to share with you. First, I’d work out. Probably running in my neighborhood because it’s hilly. It’s also nowhere near Dolores Park, FYI. I don’t know why you assume I’d live in the Mission. Or Noe Valley or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I live in Noe Valley,” Derek said stiffly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you do. So, after working out, I’d get breakfast - probably with my best friend, Scott, and his wife. Although they just had a baby, so maybe I’d hang out with another friend. I eat most of my meals with my friends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Derek ate alone almost exclusively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, I live alone. I need human contact.” He said it like it was so obvious and Derek just nodded vaguely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek. “How do you spend your Saturday mornings?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I also work out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, working out takes a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles made a skeptical face. “What, like two hours? That’s a lot, too much actually, but it isn’t a whole morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Derek said quietly. “Four.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Four what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Four hours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles’ jaw hung open. “You work out for four hours? Four consecutive hours? Every Saturday?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Sunday. I only do two hours on weekdays.” Derek knew his face had to be bright red by now, but he forced himself to act nonchalant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles whistled. “You truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> a robot. I did not realize.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anger flared in Derek’s chest. “Fuck you,” he said. “You asked. Why, just so you could be a judgmental prick?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles held up his hands, in defense or apology Derek couldn’t tell. “Whoa there, big guy. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just...wow. You know that’s, like, a lot of exercise, right? I mean, it’s impressive. Don’t get me wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek said nothing, just stared at the table, jaw clenched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. For once,” Stiles said, with a half smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever,” Derek sighed, though he did feel a little appeased. “I was a college athlete. Division I. So I like to work out. It’s not a big deal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What sport?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles rolled his eyes. “You played Division I what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Uh, baseball.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn. I love baseball. Like, a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two men sat in front of their empty bowls, occasionally fidgeting or looking out the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We could unpack?” Derek suggested. “Listen to the A’s play the Mariners?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen to the A’s beat the Mariners, you mean. Okay.” Stiles smiled and Derek couldn’t help smiling back, just a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I promised I'd write more quickly and then slowed waaaaay down. I think it's related to the world exploding? I dunno, but I'm sorry. Gonna pick it up.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For Stiles, unpacking meant a lot of haphazard tossing, occasionally stopping altogether to put his hands on his hips and yell at the radio playing the baseball game. Derek unpacked 12 boxes in the time it took Stiles to get through a little more than one, but he preferred being the one to decide where to put things, so he didn’t mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two men didn’t talk much while they worked, the radio possibly deliberately set too loudly to promote a chatting atmosphere. When the game ended, Derek shut it off with a sigh and hoped they could just continue to work in silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three seconds later, Stiles tossed an empty box to Derek, who was breaking the empties down with a box cutter. “So why did you want to join the Bureau?” he asked Derek, giving up the pretense of working completely and sitting down on a full box.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek frowned and focused on slicing through the tape on an empty box. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly what I asked? Why FBI? Why not some other type of law enforcement, or lawyer, or chef, or clown?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek knew the truth - that he liked watching crime-solving shows as a kid - would be too embarrassing, so he changed the subject.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t catching bad guys enough of a motive? Speaking of which, we haven’t compared notes on the Alpha Pack yet, which we should do before tomorrow.” He tossed a newly-flattened box onto a pile, hoping his tactic worked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles made a humming sound. “You’re right. Okay. Here’s what I got: Duke’s main associates are known as Kali, Ennis, and the twins, Ethan and Aiden. Can’t remember the last names, but we think those are aliases so it doesn’t matter too much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek nodded and carefully rested a vase in the middle of the dining table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s hideous,” Stiles said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t pick it out,” Derek snapped, feeling insulted, like Stiles had meant to needle him. Hadn’t he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles just moved on. “Their last known location was a ranch in Texas, which was so locked down that infiltration never proved successful. This move to an actual community with other people in it is new, probably a way to get more business, recruit new members maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how much do we know about their cover story?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I tried not to learn too much, actually,” Stiles said, “so that I would seem genuinely interested and uninformed when they talk to us about it tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek furrowed his brow. “You’re going in unprepared </span>
  <em>
    <span>on purpose
  </span></em>?”
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, you know all about their cover?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I do. I do my job, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh!” Stiles hopped off his box and rolled his eyes. “For a minute there I almost forgot how insufferably superior you are. I’m going to go work on the bedroom.” Without waiting for a response, he left, his footsteps briskly pounding up the stairs as Derek continued to cut boxes in the quiet dining room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles didn’t know how he was going to last weeks to months as Derek’s roommate (and bedmate) if he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him for more than a couple of hours. It was kind of a problem.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the bedroom, he muttered angrily to himself while he shoved his clothes into the bottom half of the single dresser. He hung up the few dress shirts and pants he’d brought on the left side of the closet, making sure to leave plenty of hangers for Derek. Occasionally he stopped to tap out angry texts to Scott, who responded solely with emojis. He wanted to call and vent, like he normally did, but Derek would be able to hear him. Yet another way he made Stiles’s life less fun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was shoving razors and deodorant into a drawer in the en suite bathroom when he noticed Derek had already put some of his things inside. He grabbed his own stuff, ready to use another drawer, when something from inside Derek’s toiletry kit caught his eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He brought </span>
  <em>
    <span>lube</span></em>?” Stiles asked the room incredulously, forgetting not to say it out loud.
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?” Derek called upstairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing!” Stiles slammed the drawer shut, suppressing the urge to rifle through the rest of Derek’s supplies. What else did he have in his little treasure trove? Did he bring lube because he brought toys? Was he a toy guy?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles physically shook his head to try to clear out the frankly arousing thought of Derek playing with himself. He didn’t want to picture Derek naked, lying on his back with his legs spread and his face flushed-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stiles?” Derek asked from just outside the bathroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles yelped and slammed the bathroom door. “Nothing!” he shouted, much too loudly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you said that already. What’s going on up here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nosy little shit</span></em>, Stiles thought, deliberately ignoring the irony.
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw a spider in the bathtub,” he called out. “I don’t like spiders.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek sighed on the other side of the door. “You better not ask me to kill it. I don’t kill spiders.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would I ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>you
  </span></em> to kill it? Was that a dig at my masculinity?”
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Believe it or not, Stiles, not everything I say is calculated to insult you. Anyway, I’m going to drive into town to pick up something for dinner since there are so few places that deliver here and I don’t feel like cooking. Any requests?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles felt a little touched that Derek was including him, like dinner was always going to be a shared concept in their lives now. Then he felt disgusted for feeling touched and pretended like he hadn’t himself suggested they go into town together that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No thanks, I’ll find something here. You do you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek said nothing, and a few minutes later Stiles heard the car pull away. He dialed Scott’s number immediately to make the most of whatever venting time he had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek waited until Stiles was fully snoring that night before slipping out of the bed with his pillow. He’d quietly made up the beds in the guest rooms earlier that day with the plan of sneaking into one of them after Stiles went to sleep. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough rest the night before and he didn’t want to go into Deucalion’s party tomorrow without being in top form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He also wanted to be able to sleep nude, like he normally did at home, but he wasn’t sure if he should risk it; what if Stiles woke up in the night, confused, and came to find him and Derek was asleep with the covers kicked off? He shuddered at the thought, but whether out of disgust or interest he really couldn’t say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually he got into the bed in just his boxer briefs, a far sight less than he had worn to share a bed with Stiles. He snuggled himself in and exhaled in relief. He missed living alone already. And he was pretty sure Stiles did, too. Was this whole operation going to be a nightmare?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a job
  </span></em>, Derek reminded himself sternly. 
  <em>
    <span>It’s not supposed to be fun
  </span></em>.
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although he had to admit it had been a little fun, for a minute there, when he was leaving the shared bedroom and caught a glimpse of sleeping Stiles and the way his long eyelashes draped over his high cheekbones when his eyes were closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek sighed and tossed violently from one side to the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yup. Nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles wasn’t surprised to wake up alone; he figured Derek was out running 20 miles or something, barefoot. He hauled himself out of bed, brushed his teeth, and pounded down the stairs to go make some coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped abruptly at the foot of the stairs when he noticed Derek’s running shoes sitting by the front door. And there were Derek’s keys to the house, hanging from the irritating little key-holder Derek had insisted on putting in yesterday.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So where was he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles trailed through the rest of the downstairs and peeked out into the backyard: nothing. Confused, he went back upstairs and checked their bedroom again. Not expecting to find anything, he went into the bedroom across the hall from theirs and nearly tripped over his own feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek was asleep, his face smooth and unburdened by stress or anger or irritation. He was flat on his back, one arm slung over his head and the other resting over his belly. His firm, hairy belly. Stiles set his hand on the wall to steady himself and ignored the voice in his head telling him to look away, to respect Derek’s apparent need for space and privacy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But those biceps. Those glorious pecs, the perfect nipples he could just imagine flicking with his tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t help it; some kind of animal sound bubbled out of his throat, waking Derek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek shot up immediately, scrambling to cover himself with the blanket that had drifted off his torso in sleep. “What do you want?” he snapped, sounding much angrier than he was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Properly reminded of Derek’s terrible personality, lust now vanquished from his mind, Stiles bit back, “Sorry, I didn’t realize we were the kind of fake husbands who don’t even share a fake marriage bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek closed his eyes and fell back against his pillow. “That doesn’t even make sense,” he grumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t what we agreed to,” Stiles went on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you care so much?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles had no idea how to respond, so he just gave Derek his dirtiest look and said, “Just don’t fuck it up at the party tonight. I will not let you fuck this up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Stiles stormed out, Derek opened his eyes again and watched the ceiling, thanking the deities that the blanket hadn’t come off the lower half of his body and exposed his raging morning wood to his colleague. Things really did not need to be more awkward than they already were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he had a feeling it was going to get a hell of a lot worse before it got better.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stiles and Derek both spent the morning artfully dodging one another; while Derek washed dishes, Stiles trimmed the hedge out front. When Derek went to lift weights in the garage, Stiles took a long walk around the neighborhood, scoping out the terrain. Later, when Stiles went into town to buy the socks he’d forgotten to pack, Derek just nodded at him and went back to reading a book in the living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there was no avoiding a pretend spouse when it was time to go make nice with the neighbor they most needed to convince of their undying devotion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you seriously don’t know anything about their cover?” Derek asked quietly as they locked their front door and headed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope. And that’s the way I like it. I wouldn’t know anything about this guy beyond his name if I really were Stiles Thompson.” Stiles really hated their fake last name, but it needed to be generic and difficult to Google.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you actually were Stiles Thompson, you probably wouldn’t be packing heat, either,” Derek responded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you know what I’m packing?” Stiles asked, eyebrow raised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek’s cheek pinked up and he pursed his lips, annoyed. Would this man-child never stop?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever,” he said, embarrassed that he couldn’t come up with anything better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, snookums,” Stiles purred, taking Derek’s arm in his. “Let’s not arrive looking sulky and mad, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s definitely the most difficult aspect of this operation</span></em>, Derek thought. But he smiled tightly and kept his arm entwined with Stiles’ as they approached Deucalion’s front door. They could hear a light hum of voices and music once they were a few feet away.
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gentlemen!” Deucalion sang, beating them to the door and making Derek very glad they were prepared already, at least with their body language.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles grinned at their host and dropped Derek’s arm in order to shake Deucalion’s hand. “Good to see you, Deucalion. Thanks again, so much, for inviting us over. It’s tough starting all over in a new place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek marveled briefly at how completely at ease Stiles seemed, and how believable he was. He was simultaneously relieved and pissed off about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please call me Duke,” the man said, reaching for Derek’s hand next and fixing him with a stare too inquisitive to be that of just a friendly neighbor. It was obvious, to Derek at least, that this man was presenting a facade, but instead of coming across natural and fluid, like Stiles, there was something hard and artificial about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek and Stiles followed Duke inside and handed over the bottle of wine they’d brought. Duke thanked them and handed it off to a housekeeper with frightened eyes. Derek made a mental note to find a way to talk to her at some point, although probably not tonight. Just another reason they needed to make a good impression their first time here - it could not be a one-time thing if they were going to get the intel they needed on the Alpha Pack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, Kali,” Duke said as a tall woman with long, jet-black hair sailed past. He tugged her back to stand next to him and Derek didn’t miss the flash of annoyance in her eyes, even though it was quickly replaced with a huge smile. “Please meet our new neighbors, Derek and Stiles…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thompson,” Stiles supplied as he thrust out a hand for Kali to shake, which she accepted gingerly and not without a whiff of distaste that Stiles likely didn’t notice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thompson,” Deucalion repeated. “They’ve just moved into the Barker place. I believe they’re renting it out while Mr. Barker does a fellowship at Yale? He’s quite the scholar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek frowned. “Mr. Barker told us they were going to spend a couple of years traveling abroad, but maybe he just didn’t want to brag. Either way, we were grateful to find such a great place so quickly. I was worried we’d be stuck in the city forever.” He flashed a smile at Stiles, attempting to telegraph a message: </span>
  <em>
    <span>He just fed me deliberately false information to test me, tread carefully</span></em>.
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles’ answering smile and wink reassured Derek that he knew what was up. It wasn’t a huge cause for concern; career criminals like Deucalion tended to be suspicious of everyone they didn’t know until they decided it was safe to trust them. Derek and Stiles were nothing if not trained to make him trust them, eventually. This was all par for the course.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps you misunderstood the Barkers, Duke,” Kali replied smoothly. “Now then, can I offer you gentlemen something to drink? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles tried not to let his jaw hang down too much at the opulence inside the Alpha Pack’s home base, since he was supposed to be the kind of person who lived in this neighborhood, too. Even if this house was demonstrably fancier than theirs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully Kali had only led them to the bar setup and then moved on, so they were able to fix non-alcoholic drinks without raising any questions. Stiles handed Derek a club soda with lime before making one for himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite a crowd,” Derek observed, watching the well-dressed men and women flitting through the packed rooms of the house. “I didn’t think suburban parties were this…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bumpin’?” Stiles supplied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, that,” Derek said, smiling so warmly at Stiles that his knees wobbled just a tad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Do not be swayed, he is just doing his job, he is still a grouchy ass.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t peg you for a guy who knows a lot about parties,” Stiles said, tearing his eyes from Derek’s movie-star grin and staring at the ice cubes in his drink instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek started to respond, but a group of guests descended upon the bar area and it wasn’t safe for them to have a getting-to-know-you conversation when they were supposed to be married. So he said, “Please tell me you got the number for that gardener we saw, the backyard at our place is going to be such a pain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, we just moved in two days ago! Give me a minute to get my bearings before you have me beating down doors to identify the mystery gardener.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moved in where?” A young man with close-cropped golden hair and deeply-set eyes moved himself between them as he opened a beer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A few doors down,” Stiles said cheerfully, unthrown by the interruption because he recognized this kid as either Ethan or Aiden, the twins in the Alpha Pack. “I’m Stiles, and this is my husband Derek.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aiden,” the man said, not bothering to mask his obvious appreciation for Derek’s...everything. His eyes went up and down and back again and Stiles felt irrationally possessive, so he snaked his arm around Derek’s waist and gave Aiden a close-lipped smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You live in the neighborhood, too, Aiden?” Stiles asked casually.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometimes my brother and I stay here with Duke, yeah,” Aiden said before sipping his beer. “We all work together, and when things get hectic it’s just easier to have a command central where we all stay.” He shrugged. “Speaking of work, what do you guys do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek spoke first. “I’m a lawyer. I have a small trusts and estates practice that I can do from anywhere, thanks to the Internet - it’s how we were able to move out here. My last job was at a firm in the city and they loved face time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles couldn’t help being impressed by how smoothly Derek delivered his cover. Hopefully the admiring look he was casting over his fake husband didn’t look as real as it actually was to Derek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’m a writer,” Stiles said. “I write crime novels.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s had three published,” Derek said proudly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles scoffed and smiled bashfully and tried hard to squash how good it felt to have Derek looking at him like that, like he was so valuable and deserved praise. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s fake, dumbass</span></em>.
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Aiden asked, not sounding at all interested. “Should I look up your stuff? I could use a distraction now and then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles was about to explain that he used a pseudonym that he kept secret from real-life acquaintances because his books explored some rather racy themes, but something caught Aiden’s attention and he quickly said goodbye and hurried off across the crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not bad, Mr. Thompson,” Stiles whispered. He needed to pull his arm back from where it was wrapped around Derek. He really did. He would do it in like thirty seconds, maybe one minute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Derek pulled away while Stiles was negotiating with himself. “Split up and mingle?” he suggested, surveying the crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Stiles said, berating himself for the thread of disappointment he felt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he wandered through the ground floor of Duke’s house, Derek tried to forget the way Stiles’ strong arm had felt wrapped around him; it had been a while since anyone outside his family touched him. That realization made him pissed at himself for staying out of the dating scene for so long, and equally pissed that he was apparently desperate enough to like Stilinski’s touch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Derek!” Deucalion cried, pulling Derek by the elbow into a conversation he was having with three burly men. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His touch didn’t feel nearly as good. Not good at all, actually, but Derek gave him a polite smile and nodded at the other men.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is my dashing new neighbor,” Duke said. “Derek, please meet Ennis, my business associate, and George and Tom, two of our friends.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you,” Derek said, lifting his glass. “My apologies - I don’t actually know what your business is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ennis grinned. “We’re in the adventure business.” He waggled an eyebrow at Derek suggestively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” Derek looked to Duke for confirmation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could say that,” Duke said smoothly. “We are a travel agency, of sorts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek did his best confused frown. “Don’t people book their travel themselves these days? Online? I know Stiles and I do it that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you two lovebirds travel much, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not nearly enough,” Stiles chimed in. Had he just followed Derek over here? Derek hoped the irritation he felt didn’t show on his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stiles, meet Ennis, George, and Tom,” Derek said. Stiles shook their hands eagerly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what’s this about us traveling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was telling your husband that our business is, in a way, a travel service,” Deucalion responded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles furrowed his brow. “How so? Sounds interesting. I love to travel. I can’t get this guy to be adventurous very often, though.” He squeezed Derek’s elbow and beamed up at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Duke gave Derek a long look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek shrugged. He and Stiles hadn’t planned this one out, so he hoped they could improvise harmoniously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a lot of time, really. I’m not opposed to it, in theory.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles laughed. “We didn’t even go on a honeymoon because you couldn’t get the time off work!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that’s just unacceptable,” Ennis said. “Duke, we should help them remedy that.” He fixed Stiles with a frankly lascivious look that made Derek want to growl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deucalion hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps. Do you think they’d be interested in what we have to offer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what is that, exactly?” Derek asked, although he already knew that the Alpha Pack specialized in high-thrill vacation packages, which he assumed meant adventure trips: safaris, skydiving, that sort of thing. Which he definitely did not want to do, with or without Stiles. But definitely, definitely not with Stiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We cater to an exclusive clientele and provide a unique and exciting experience. For couples.” Duke gave both men a considering look and his companions smirked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, like, bungee jumping or white-water rafting?” Stiles asked, clearly thinking the same thing Derek had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not exactly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? What sort of experience do you provide, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We design and deliver sensual, erotically-themed escapes for a couple’s sexual fulfillment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles spat out the mouthful of soda water he had unfortunately taken and Derek made a gasping-coughing sound. He hadn’t learned </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his research.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my,” Stiles said very quietly, now squeezing Derek’s arm painfully. “I’m not sure we could...accept something like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Derek added hurriedly. “We’re very...private people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have sex?” George asked in a flat tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek knew his face had to be bright red by now. “Um,” was all he could get out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Stiles said. “But. You know. Privately?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ennis rolled his eyes. “We don’t plan orgies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unless the client wants that,” Duke corrected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. We wouldn’t be, like, watching you. We just set it up and let you take it from there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I am now convinced that I would like to provide one of our experiences to the two of you, as a welcome gift. No charge. Please do not refuse.” Duke’s words were friendly but his tone was steely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So much for preparation ensuring he wouldn’t be caught off guard. All Derek could do was swallow and nod. “That’s very generous of you. Can we think about it? As I said, it’s hard to find time to travel…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. Now, you must excuse us; I see several guests I need to welcome.” With that, Duke and his men were gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles was staring at Derek, eyes slightly bugged. “Seriously?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously,” Derek sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you know about this? Why didn’t you warn me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up,” Derek muttered. “I didn’t know, but it’s not like you would have let me warn you. Can you just behave? I don’t think we’re getting anywhere else with Duke tonight, so go talk to people and act normal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles snorted. “That’s rich, coming from you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we save the bickering for our erotic vacation? Because something tells me we’re going to have a lot of time to fill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Derek could have sworn he saw something flash in Stiles’ eyes, just briefly. But maybe not. After all, this was the worst possible situation for them to be in, right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right?</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
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